


Baby, Please Come Home

by sleepingbunny



Category: Renegades (1989)
Genre: Angst, Buster is a little brat, Christmas, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingbunny/pseuds/sleepingbunny
Summary: Buster goes missing before Christmas and Hank tries to cope.
Relationships: Buster McHenry/Hank Storm
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Baby, Please Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really meant to be a sequel to "Closing Time" but I used the same idea of Buster and Hank separating and then getting back together years later.
> 
> Also, I know there are probably 10,000 Christmas-themed fics with this title and I'm sorry, but this song really inspired me!

_December 15_

Hank made it almost two hours before turning the radio on. He kept the volume to a low hum, because he couldn’t stand any of the local talk stations, but he had to have _something_ to fill the silent house. His dislike of silence was one of the most surprising side effects of Buster’s absence. He’d really taken his noisiness for granted – his voice, his laughter, even his breathing seemed much louder than the average person’s. The house was uncomfortably silent without him, so quiet that sometimes Hank almost wondered if the outside world had ceased to exist. Every day he told himself that he didn’t need the radio, that if Buster didn’t come back he was going to have to get used to the silence eventually. A part of him knew he’d never get used to it. And that was okay, because Buster _was_ coming back.

He’d stormed out three days ago, slamming the door so hard Hank thought it would break, but Hank still assumed he’d be back for dinner. He wasn’t. Thirty years after Hank first met him, Buster was still a stubborn brat, and age hadn’t mellowed him at all.

Hank picked up his phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning and then set it down gently. One attempted call per day was enough. The last thing he wanted was to seem desperate. He felt desperate every time he looked at his phone and saw no calls or texts, though. He wondered if Buster was thinking about him at all, wherever he was.

He knew Buster’s temper could be explosive, but he couldn’t think of anything about this particular fight that would make him leave like that. He’d considered going to the police, but he knew Buster. Hank always trusted his instincts, and right now they were telling him that Buster was gone by choice. Still, that didn’t stop him from scanning the newspapers and checking the internet for mentions of his name. It didn’t stop him from having stupid thoughts – what if he was cold out there? The temperature had dropped rapidly in the last day or so, and Buster hadn’t taken anything but the clothes on his back. Hank had checked.

 _Stop being ridiculous_ , he told himself. _He’s not a child._

Hank still worried. It was a week and half before Christmas, and though he only celebrated to humor Buster, it didn’t feel right to spend it without him.

Just like it didn’t feel right to sleep in his – _their_ – bed without Buster. He’d been camping in the living room, huddled in blankets that would not be stolen by Buster for once. The tears had come as he lay on the couch, staring at the lights on the tree. They kaleidoscoped into a blur of colors and he blinked, not bothering to wipe the hot tears away.

He remembered their first Christmas together. Buster had insisted on getting a real tree and decorating it, in an effort to educate Hank on Christmas traditions. As if he’d never seen a Christmas tree before. He humored him though, mostly because he was so cute when he was excited and acting like a know-it-all. The only thing he helped with was the placement of the star, gently plucking it from Buster’s hands after watching him struggle to reach the top of the tree.

“What does the star mean?” he asked, though he knew that, too. He just liked the way Buster puffed out his chest when he explained things.

Later, they exchanged gifts. He gave Buster a fairly expensive watch, and though he’d only shown it with a small smile, he was overjoyed that he liked it so much.

“Where’d you get this, Hank? The mall downtown?” Buster asked, turning his wrist to admire the watch from all angles.

“No, we’re both banned from there, remember? Wait, you didn’t go back there for my gift, did you?”

Buster averted his eyes and let out one of those throaty chuckles that drove Hank crazy. Hank always regretted not having much of a sense of humor. Maybe that was a good thing. He might abuse his power if he could hear that laugh whenever he wanted to.

That Christmas felt so long ago. Hell, it _was_ so long ago.

Hank didn’t look forward to sleeping tonight. Maybe he’d find a motel, but what if Buster did come back, only to find him gone? A small, spiteful part of him wanted that, wanted Buster to come home to a cold and empty house and maybe cry himself to sleep that night. See how he liked it. He could never let that happen, though. All he wanted was to have Buster in his arms again.

He threw on his suede jacket and made sure to close the door softly as he stepped out into the cloudy grey morning. He didn’t know why he bothered going to the grocery store when he barely felt like eating, but he wanted to get some of Buster’s favorite things, just in case. Christmas oldies played softly as he drifted through the aisles, debating whether Buster deserved to have his favorite snacks. Sighing, he snatched them from the shelf with a little too much force and threw them into the cart. Among Hank’s other purchases were coffee, eggs, and a blue mug the color of Buster’s eyes.

*

_December 23_

Hank looked at his phone again and sighed. He’d caved in and sent more texts, had even tried to call again, but there was no response. Buster obviously wasn’t going to come back. Hank missed him, but he didn’t _need_ him to be happy, to be complete. If that stubborn asshole could be out there doing God-knows-what without bothering to contact him, probably not even _thinking_ about him, he could do the same.

He knew that was a lie, though. If he was over Buster he wouldn’t still be on the couch with the radio on low, staring at the Christmas tree and turning his half of the stone over and over in his hands.

He wouldn’t be thinking about the years he’d spent without Buster and the astonishing joy he’d felt to have him back in his life. Kissing Buster for the first time in decades had been exhilarating, both familiar and excitingly unexpected. At first it felt strange without the tickle of his mustache, but he quickly got used to it. He still had the muscle memory to tilt his head to the exact angle required to kiss a man several inches shorter than him.

Hank hadn’t been with anyone since he and Buster had parted ways the first time. Plenty of people, men and women, had shown interest. Hank knew, in a matter-of-fact way devoid of vanity, that he was considered an attractive man by many. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t find a partner. It was just that he knew Buster was it. At the time it made sense for them to part, and he’d faced it with bittersweet acceptance.

This was different. It wasn’t a mutual decision; Buster was the one to leave him. Worse still, he left without saying goodbye this time.

It was snowing now, and Hank knew objectively that it was beautiful, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. He stared out the window, watching the flakes drift down without truly seeing them.

*

_December 24_

The loud knocking jolted Hank from his sleep and he leapt from the couch, his heart pounding. His mouth was incredibly dry.

More knocking came as he stumbled to the door. At that moment he knew it was the police, here to inform him that, unfortunately, Buster McHenry had… he couldn’t finish the thought. He wanted to go back to sleep and wake up the next morning and forget all about this.

“Hank,” an unmistakable voice called, and Hank stood frozen for several seconds.

“C’maaan,” the voice pleaded.

Hank peered out the peephole. It was dark, but he could tell the figure outside was Buster. He turned on the lights and slowly opened the door.

Buster stood there with snow starting to melt in his honey-colored hair and a bruise on his left cheek. He raised his eyes to meet Hank’s.

“You…” Hank exhaled, unable to say anything else.

“Me,” Buster said, still standing where Hank had found him. “Uh, can I come in?”

Hank opened the door wide and stepped inside, gesturing for Buster to follow him. He noticed that Buster had something in his hands.

“This is for you,” Buster said, holding it out to Hank. It was a small, poorly-wrapped package that, like its owner, looked like it had been through a lot. Hank didn’t take it.

Hank exhaled sharply through his nostrils. “Buster,” he said. “This… Do you really think you can just come here and-”

“No,” Buster said softly. “But Hank, I really am sorry. I was so stupid. I thought of you a lot when I was gone, about how you might have been worrying, and that tears me up, it really does. But I lost my phone, and I didn’t remember your number, and-”

“What happened to your face?” Hank asked bluntly, cutting him off. He was winning the war against the tears that were trying to leak from his eyes.

“I’ll tell you later,” Buster said. “Hank, just please- I’m so sorry.” He held the gift out to Hank again.

“Let’s sit down,” Hank said. “I’ll put some more wood on the fire.”

Buster removed his jacket – a new one Hank had never seen before – and settled down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Hank turned to look at him but didn’t say a thing as he sank into the chair by the fire.

“Please open it,” Buster said, still sitting as he held the small package out toward Hank. He looked so pathetic that Hank finally took it.

Hank joined Buster on the rug. He unwrapped the package with excruciating slowness, pretending not to notice Buster’s impatient noises. He turned the object over in his hand, feeling its comforting smoothness. It was the other half of the stone.

“I kept it with me,” Buster said. “In my pocket. I never stopped thinking about you, Hank.” There were tears shining in his eyes. “But I don’t know if I deserve it anymore.”

“That’s yours, Buster,” Hank said. He placed the stone half in Buster’s small, cold hands and wrapped his large, warm ones around them. He noticed that Buster’s knuckles were bruised.

“What happened to you?” he asked, and his eyes were kind when they met Buster’s.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” Buster said. “I’m okay now, don’t worry, but I just… need you right now.” His eyes were pleading. “I love you, Hank.”

“I love you,” Hank sighed, gently pulling Buster’s face against his chest and stroking the back of his head. His hair was slightly damp.

“I’m so sorry,” Buster whispered. “I’m a stupid asshole.”

“No arguments there,” Hank said, but his expression was soft. He reached under Buster’s sweater, trying to pull it over his head, but withdrew his hands when Buster winced.

“No, it’s okay,” Buster said, guiding Hank’s hands back to where they had been. “It hurts, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Buster, what the hell,” Hank said softly after he’d removed Buster’s sweater. His left side was covered in purple bruises.

“I said I’d explain later,” Buster said. He turned his gaze downward, unable to face the look in Hank’s eyes.

Despite his efforts not to, Hank felt sorry for Buster. He’d obviously been hurt, whether it was his own fault or not, and he hated to see Buster in pain. He reached out and tilted Buster’s chin up, forcing him to look into his eyes.

“I love you,” Hank said again as he started to remove his own shirt. “We’ll discuss this in the morning, but I just want you to know that I missed you. So much.” Despite his best efforts, his voice shook.

“I missed you, too,” Buster said, his voice a rough whisper.

Hank held Buster’s head in his hands, looking into his beautiful, tired face, and he couldn’t fight the urge to kiss him any longer. Buster returned his kiss with a moaning sound from deep in his throat. They burned against each other, Hank forgetting to be careful with Buster’s injuries and Buster forgetting that his body hurt. They were safe inside their own little snow globe scene, in front of a crackling fire while the snow fell softly outside the window.

Hank would give Buster a very stern talking-to tomorrow, but for now he was so glad he was with him again that he could think of little else than the way he felt in his arms, small and warm and his.


End file.
